50 First Dates
by SilverSpring
Summary: An attempt to rekindle romance.
1. Chapter 1

_**AN:** _This began as a short oneshot, but kind of escalated! So I've had to split it up...hope you enjoy!

* * *

**50 First Dates**

* * *

It was Courfeyrac who had acted as Cupid.

He had researched every trick in the book, made notes from the cliché old rom-com movies that always ended with a sickeningly loved-up couple. He'd locked them in closets together, forced them to play strip-poker with the rest of the group, arranged evenings out as a threesome and ditched them at the last minute. He'd purposely set up ridiculous arguments with Éponine so that Enjolras would inevitably take her side in the fight. It had been hard work at times, especially dealing with such a stubborn pair as Enjolras and Éponine, but his efforts had paid off in the end.

The couple had point blank _refused_ to give him the credit for bringing them together ("I was thinking of asking her out anyway" Enjolras sniffed), but had agreed to let him perform their wedding ceremony ("At any rate, it'll never happen," laughed Éponine to Musichetta with a mischievous grin, "Enjolras barely had the guts to ask me out, never mind propose!")

Courf is rather proud of his handiwork, if truth be told, and when the rest of his friends hoot and catcall at the unlikely pair wrapped around each other on New Year's Eve, he considers it his greatest triumph.

* * *

Two years later and the couple are still going strong, but Enjolras is waist deep in library books and Éponine begins to get frustrated.

"We've barely seen each other in three months! I'm beginning to forget what you look like-"

Even over the phone he can picture her standing there, hand on hip and fiddling with that little strand of hair as she always does when she gets agitated.

"I'm sorry!" he whines, rubbing his tired eyes with ink-stained knuckles. "It's just one more week and the semester will be over. I'll make it up to you, Ep, I swear."

"It's our anniversary tomorrow."

"I know, I'm sorry. I want to spend it with you, you know I do, but there's just so much shit to get through and I'm already pushed for time as it is. We can celebrate next week, when my mind won't be on other things and we'll have the whole entire day and I can cook you dinner and we'll watch a movie, and...Ep? "

There is a lengthy silence, and Enjolras wonders if she's left him babbling to go and make herself a coffee or run a bubble bath (she's done it before).

"..._Ep_?"

There is a crackle on the other end of the line and her voice pipes up once more, husky and thoughtful.

"You know..."

A slight rustle and sharp click of the kettle.

"You know, you never really asked me out."

"I – what?"

"You never properly asked me out," she says simply. "Courfeyrac did it."

She can virtually hear the hiss of his ears turning red, and smirks as he splutters on the other end of the line.

"Well, not exactly, I mean I was going to...I - "

"Enjolras?"

"Yes?"

"I want a first date. A real one, a proper night out with flowers, where we dress up nice and you hold the door open for me like a gentleman. Then I'll forgive you for all this studying."

There is a pause and a crackle on the end of the line, and Éponine raises her eyebrows sceptically.

"Deal."

...*...

Hanging up the phone, Enjolras slumps face forward over his desk, banging his head lightly against his books. He's never been comfortable with the notion of dating, preferring always to skip ahead to a steady relationship, complete with easy silences and bickering over the TV remote. Courfeyrac's endeavour to set him up with an old-time friend like Éponine was a gift, really. But even Éponine has never been into lovey-dovey romance, at least if her grimaces are anything to go by whenever Marius and Cosette are around. Usually they just hang out with the rest of the gang at the Musain, or watch a movie in Enjolras' flat. Comfortable and easy, and familiar.

Still, Enjolras knows that if his first (technical) date with Éponine takes place at the cafe, where Grantaire will no doubt demand karaoke, he'll live to regret it; especially given how much time he's spent locked away studying lately, which admittedly got him in this mess in the first instance...

The thought startles him out of his reverie. Turning back to his books, Enjolras makes a mental note to ask the guys for advice later.

(He does; and they happily blurt out ridiculous suggestions, each of which he shoots down firmly - but Courfeyrac's eyes light up).

* * *

And so, they agree to rekindle their relationship with an actual date the following week.

It's safe to say that the night is pretty much a disaster.

Enjolras has agreed to pick her up from her flat in a car he's borrowed from Grantaire for the evening, and for some reason both he and Éponine are nervous as hell. He grins sheepishly at her when he arrives on the doorstep, and as he hands her a cute little posie of tulips, the brush of his fingers against hers makes Éponine blush. Mentally slapping herself, Éponine hands the flowers to her roommate and flounces out the door, skirts twirling round her ankles, and Cosette sends the pair off with a smile and a wink.

They don't get far down the highway before the car grinds to a slow stop, and Enjolras curses Grantaire to the depths as he wrenches open the bonnet and starts hacking away inside. Eponine suppresses a giggle as she listens to his furious mutterings from inside the car, and bites her lip as she glances out the window at the darkening sky.

"Don't know what the hell bloody dealer he got this rust-bucket from...should've fucking known...piece of utter shit..."

It's a whole hour before Combeferre turns up to give them a lift, and they've missed their dinner reservations anyhow.

They agree to try again another night.

* * *

Their second attempt doesn't go much better.

This time they make it to the restaurant, but they are squeezed through the packed crowd to a tiny table barely big enough for a family of mice, as Enjolras loudly informs the entire room.

But when Éponine takes his hand and smiles at him, he forgets the table, forgets the man with questionable hygiene sitting to his right, and simply enjoys this romantic time with her, lost in the way she glows in the candlelight...

That is, until halfway through their meal she reaches across to grab a napkin and knocks the candle flying, abruptly setting the tablecloth alight and screeching at the top of her lungs. The entire restaurant watches in silence as Éponine shoves the flaming table away from her and into a flailing Enjolras' lap, before leaping into the arms of the old man at the next table, whose elderly wife is open-mouthed and staring, soupspoon hovering in mid air and dripping onto her knee.

Enjolras yells in pain as the young waiter runs frantically to the kitchens, squeaking in Italian, before returning and extinguishing the fire with a large bucket of ice cold water. The room erupts in a round of applause, and the old man gives the strange girl an awkward pat on the head to calm her down.

The journey home is a quiet one, but beneath his singed eyebrows and dripping wet shirt Enjolras promises her that they will try again.

* * *

For their third date, they decide it may be best not to go for a meal, and walk instead to the local cinema only two streets away.

Enjolras buys a large popcorn and drink for them to share, with two straws (because "ew, germs" as Joly would say, and he's got Enjolras quite paranoid).

The theatre is packed with young couples, and as they huddle together to watch the romantic comedy Éponine has picked out, Enjolras is overcome by a rush of sudden affection for the girl beside him. Stretching an arm out to curl around her shoulders, he accidentally catches the chin of the person sitting on the other side of her, a rather burly fellow with very little neck and fists the size of boxing gloves.

...*...

An hour later and they are still sat in the emergency room.

"Why can't it ever go right?" Enjolras mutters through a wad of bloody tissue held against his swollen lip.

"Well it's not like you _meant_ to hit him, he overreacted," Eponine says soothingly, reaching up to pull a piece of popcorn from his hair. "At least it got us out of that god-awful movie, I don't know what I was thinking choosing something so _cheesy..."_

"Is this supposed to make me feel better?"

She chews on her lip, face contorting with effort, and reaches for a new tissue.

"It's not funny!"

"I'm not laughing!"

"Yes you ar-"

His protests are muffled as she shoves a new wad of tissues against his mouth with a smirk.

They sit for another half hour in silence.

* * *

The fourth time, Enjolras takes Éponine to his favourite spot along the river, where he has conceived to set up a lantern-lit picnic on one of the wooden bridges. Settling down to watch the last rays of a beautiful sunset disappear behind the horizon, they sit side by side on the rug and watch the boats flow lazily up the river below them, pushed gently along by a warm summer breeze.

They have just popped open a bottle of wine when a familiar voice rings out in the stillness of the evening, echoing along the riverbanks and causing the pair to whip their heads up in unison.

"Great, what are we having?"

Enjolras groans in dismay as the rest of Les Amis thunder across the bridge towards them.

Grantaire plops down beside them, reaching immediately for the wine bottle and taking a generous swig. 'To friendship!" he cheers, "Two's company, sure, but now we're a crowd, eh?" He gives Enjolras a heavy slap on the back, nearly knocking the teeth from his head.

Joly peers round at them from his spot on the rug behind Courfeyrac. "Is it hygienic to sit on the ground?"

Scowling, Enjolras inches closer to Éponine and throws a glare at his friends. "We were actually just enjoying some time alone-"

"I know, it gets so tedious, doesn't it?" Grantaire says cheerily. "A lovely night like this ought to be appreciated by as many people as possible."

"I should have brought my sketch book," Jehan mumbles thoughtfully, chewing on his lip and casting a longing glance at the riverbank, where the lights from the cafes are now illuminating like stars that reflect in the water.

Éponine runs her thumb over Enjolras' wrist soothingly as they watch their little picnic disappear by the mouthful.

"Oh by the way, Enjolras," Combeferre leans across, swatting at a mosquito and tapping his friend on the shoulder, "They've finally agreed to let us hold the rally outside the university-"

For a brief moment, the happy revelation startles Enjolras out of his bad temper.

"They did? But how?"

"Grantaire squatted in the chancellor's office until he gave in."

Enjolras splutters his drink in horror. "He did WHAT?!"

Grantaire chuckles through a mouthful of baguette. "Don't sweat it, Chief, I got your back."

"You actually...you _squatted_?!"

"Is there an extra rug? I think there's dirt over here..."

Enjolras rolls his eyes at Joly and turns back to Combeferre. "_How could you let him do that_?"

"It's alright. I mean, we got the gig didn't we?" Combeferre gives an apologetic smile. And, well, he's only suspended for a week."

With an exasperated sigh, Enjolras slaps a hand to his eyes.

"Smile!"

A flash of light blinds them all as Courfeyrac snaps a selfie, the rest of the gang pushing each other out of the way to get in the frame.

It's pretty obvious they are here for the night, and Éponine can see that her boyfriend is close to breaking point. Shuffling around so her back is completely turned to their friends, ("How rude!"), she takes his hands and murmurs, "Maybe we should have done something else tonight."

A low whistle sounds behind her. "Yeah, baby!"

"I mean for a date you idiots" she snaps over her shoulder.

Turning back to Enjolras, Eponine tries to ignore the giggles of the others.

"Why don't we hit the town?" she offers hopefully. "It's still early enough - maybe there's somewhere we could go dancing!"

To her shock and consternation they all burst out laughing, including Enjolras.

"What?"

"Enjolras doesn't dance, Éponine," Combeferre states wisely.

"Why not?"

Enjolras clears his throat. "Because I can't."

"Yeah, he makes the Quickstep look like Hopscotch" Grantaire cackles as he pops open another bottle of wine, "Remember when we had to do that class in school? He was kicking the shit out of everyone."

"I'M NOT THAT BAD"

"Alright, Nijinsky, prove it."

"I'm not going to start pirouetting about for your amusement-"

"Good." Grantaire leans across to Éponine and lowers his voice dramatically. "You ever seen those nature documentaries, when they show a piece of salmon trying to escape the clutches of a bear?"

She blinks.

"Hm hm _hm_." Grantaire taps his glass and nods his head towards where Enjolras sits, open-mouthed and outraged.

Éponine snorts mid-drink and accidentally spits her drink on Enjolras.

"Sorry!"

He simply grunts in response and mops his face.

...*...

Between hiccups and apologies, she splutters with laughter the whole way home, and Enjolras is somewhat disgruntled by the time they all stop to say goodnight, pointedly turning his back on the lot of them and slouching off down the quiet street, hands thrust deep in his pockets.

(She catches up to him with an embrace from behind, and _damn it_, he forgives her right away.)

* * *

_**To Be Continued**_.


	2. Chapter 2

Their fifth date is scuppered before it's begun, when Azelma phones to tell them her flight is cancelled and she won't make it home in time to babysit Gavroche and his pals at their sleepover tomorrow night.

Éponine has to bribe Enjolras to help her out, kissing him on the corner of the mouth and making all sorts of exciting promises which send his blood pounding and leave his cheeks an odd pink colour as he blushes furiously under her seductive smile.

But he agrees (as she knew he would) and they spend the following evening, not on the romantic riverside walk as they'd planned, but surrounded by shouting, boisterous seven year olds, who demand they play twister and serve ice cream for dinner. It's not her ideal way to spend the evening, but Éponine has to laugh when she returns from drying the remaining dishes to find Enjolras sat on the couch amid a sea of children, stony-faced as he is forced to listen to a CD of _The Wiggles _for a fourth time around.

Catching sight of her in the doorway, he stands abruptly and picks his way through the toys cluttering the floor.

"Ep, can I have a word in the kitchen please?"

He struts past her and she follows with a smirk.

"Éponine, we – _MIND THOSE KNIVES!"_

Enjolras claps a hand to his eyes in horror as Éponine rushes over to salvage the cutlery that is teetering on the edge of the counter, shooing the mischievous child out of the room.

Wide-eyed and staring at her from between his fingers, Enjolras lets out a groaning sigh. "Eponine..."

"Oh come on, Enj, it's fun!" she interrupts, giving him a playful punch on the arm. "Besides, it's good practice for when we have kids."

She flashes him a wink and a grin, exiting the kitchen.

He follows soon after, open-mouthed and pale.

"What do you mean, when we ha-"

A small child wearing a plastic Viking helmet headbutts his stomach, and the children gasp in unison as Enjolras lets out a string of expletives.

...*...

She giggles as she hugs him comfortingly back in the safe haven of the kitchen.

"Well what do you know Éponine, now we can't have kids. Might as well take one of these ones, eh? Pick one and we'll keep it."

She laughs and flicks his nose, and he reaches up to grab her hand, leaning forward to give her a small and tender peck on the lips, just as the unmistakeable sound of _The Wiggles_ '_Hot Potato'_ starts in the next room.

He groans into her mouth and pulls away.

* * *

The sixth time, Éponine has measles, and their date takes place via satellite as they talk on Skype.

"I'm sorry I've ruined our plans."

"It's not your fault. I bet it was one of those damn kids the other night."

"Don't be ridiculous."

There is a comfortable silence as Éponine eats a mouthful of chicken soup, nibbling on the edge of some buttered toast.

Enjolras watches her eat affectionately.

"I'm sorry I can't be there to look after you."

"It's alright. Really, I got a note through the letterbox from Joly telling me not to let anyone in anyway. In case it spreads. You know what he's like."

Enjolras rolls his eyes.

"The best thing that could happen to him is measles. Then maybe he'll learn to deal with it and calm down and the rest of us can be ill in peace. Honestly, remember that time I had the flu, and a pounding headache and I was throwing up everywhere? And all I wanted was some peace and quiet but he simply _refused_ to-"

"Enjolras?"

"Yes?"

"Hush."

* * *

Their seventh attempt at a date sees the two of them boating in the park.

They get up at ExtremelyEarly:am and catch a train to the edge of the city, Éponine nodding off on Enjolras' shoulder as their carriage rattles along the track. The day is peaceful, a lazy and sunny Sunday afternoon, and the park is filled with couples and families, old and young, all eager to make the most of the sunshine before Monday arrives once more and drags them back indoors.

As Enjolras takes charge of the oars, Éponine reclines on her seat and lets out a contented sigh, feet hanging over the edge of the little rowing boat.

"I could get used to this life. What a way to travel, eh?"

Enjolras can't help but smile.

"And where exactly would you be going via rowing boat?"

They meander across the little lake, enjoying the heat of the sunshine.

"Hey!" Éponine perks up. "Didn't we have some left over sandwiches? We should feed the ducks."

"I don't know, Ep, no one else is doing that-"

"Oh what harm could it do?"

She rummages through the picnic basket and begins to crumble the remains of their lunch into breadcrumbs. Enjolras eyes her uncertainly.

"I don't think it's allowed, Ep-"

But she has already thrown the food out over the water, and as she does so a gust of wind picks up from across the lake and blows it all backwards, coating Éponine's dress with a layer of breadcrumbs. As the seagulls dive from overhead, she gives a blood-curdling shriek and stands up in a panic, sending the boat rocking and Enjolras cursing. People passing by in other boats stare in astonishment as the young man tries to bat away the birds with one of the oars, the boat rotating across the water and the girl squealing in terror.

The ordeal comes to an end when, with an almighty bang and the sound of splintering wood, they crash sideways into the rocks on the edge of the lake.

The park-keeper is less than amused as he rescues them from the water, (the young girl snivelling, and _both_ drenched head to toe), and makes sure to charge for the damage to the boat.

* * *

"I'm sorry about this."

"Don't be silly."

Éponine gives a final wave to Enjolras' aunt and uncle as their car disappears around the corner of the street, and closes the door softly.

"It's just, I know this was your first night off work in ages, and I meant to do something nice."

"This _is_ nice," she replies with a sigh, reaching for his hand. "Besides, I haven't had to do this since Gavroche was a baby. It'll be just like old times. 'Cept the company's better this time, of course."

Éponine leans back against the closed door and grins mischievously, grabbing the collar of Enjolras' shirt and yanking him closer for a passionate kiss.

They are just getting lost in each other when a loud howl erupts from somewhere upstairs.

"Woops."

Flushed, Éponine ruffles her hair and steps away from a protesting Enjolras, ducking beneath his outstretched arms.

"Duty calls."

Enjolras give a rough cough and runs a hand through his dishevelled curls. "Yeah…'course."

Leaning back against the doorframe with a contented sigh, he watches his girlfriend bound up the staircase two at a time, in the direction of the cries.

...*...

One pizza, two glasses of wine and an entire boxset of _Scrubs_ later, the couple are huddled cosily on the couch, simply enjoying the quiet time together. It is almost time for Enjolras' aunt and uncle to be back, Éponine declares, stretching and standing. They go their separate ways, Éponine upstairs to check on the baby one more time, and Enjolras outside to take the garbage to the bin.

A little while later, as he passes quietly down the hall from the bathroom, a quiet sound reaches his ears, stopping him in his tracks.

The door of the baby's room is slightly ajar, a sliver of warm light falling across the dark landing, and leaving Enjolras just enough room to discreetly peep round. From where he stands, he cannot see the crib, but catches sight of Éponine in the mirror, humming a soft refrain as she holds the infant close to her chest and rocks to and fro. As he gazes at the scene, something he has never felt before washes over him, a feeling so strong that he fears it will burst from his chest.

Oblivious to no presence but that of her charge, Éponine cradles the little bundle lovingly to her, and continues singing quietly.

_"__Only you, beneath the sun and under the moon…"_

* * *

He stands in the doorway for a long while, unable to tear himself away.

* * *

_**To Be Continued.**_


	3. Chapter 3

**AN:** Sorry it's been ages since I've posted anything, having a bit of writer's block lately! I hope this will do for now, I may make some minor changes but hopefully it won't be so long before I write again :)

* * *

"You know, we really suck at this dating thing."

It has been several months of mayhem, and ideas for first dates are running low.

For the last few weeks they have tried everything. When ten-pin bowling, Éponine's hand had gotten stuck in the bowling ball and they'd spent an hour in A&amp;E getting it removed _("I have work tomorrow, how am I supposed to serve coffee attached to a bowling ball?!"_ she'd shrieked at a snorting Enjolras); at the museum she'd accidentally knocked over an ancient artefact, and Enjolras had displayed some fantastic ninja moves in that split second of horror, managing to salvage the valuable vase by the tips of his fingers. The rest of their guided tour had been overshadowed by a constant hum of tutting and whispering. The trip to a wine tasting event (courtesy of Grantaire) had resulted in a rather tipsy (and bewildered) Enjolras being cast from the party of tourists for excessive arguing with the hostess and "_disturbing the calm of the group, Monsieur"_. Éponine had blown him a kiss from the window as he waited outside on the kerb.

For both Enjolras and Éponine, the whole thing has become something of a chore (though they are both loathe to admit it for fear of causing offence). As such, they suffer their comparative weariness in silence and continue their dance.

* * *

The couple's fifteenth "first date" takes place a week before their third anniversary of being together, and by this point has become a running joke between their friends.

They sit in their familiar old haunt, the college café where they still like to retreat to a year after they've graduated. Tonight, the amis are mingling with younger students of the university, who are celebrating their first day of the Christmas holidays.

In the background, Bahoral croons a familiar ABBA tune that he has dedicated to Enjolras and Éponine.

The former sits with his arms folded across the tabletop, staring grouchily into the depths of his drink, and desperately trying to ignore the sounds of Cosette and Marius giggling into one another's mouths beside him.

"We _would_ choose to come here on karaoke night, wouldn't we?"

"Karaoke night? Who said anything about karaoke night? This is just an average Friday…but with fresh meat," Courfeyrac ogles the youngest group of students with a wicked grin. "I've told them all that singing is compulsory. They're shitting themselves."

Combeferre gives a despairing sigh, but beside him, Grantaire smirks and draws two cigars from his pocket, handing one to Feuilly.

Cosette scrunches her nose. "Ugh, I don't know how you can smoke those disgusting things!"

"Fight night's coming up soon, gotta practise."

"Oh right, watching guys punch the living daylights out of each other, that's cause for celebration and cigars."

Courfeyrac stands up and reaches across the table to Grantaire, hand outstretched.

"_Courfeyrac, you too?"_

"What? It lends intrigue to my character. I'm the image of sophistication."

The little group stares at him as he wanders off into the crowd, cigar held jauntily between his teeth, and for a while the only sounds are the clinking of glasses in the background and the buzz of happy voices.

That and, of course, the crooning warbles of Bahoral on stage.

"_You talk of politics, philosophy and Ep smiles like Mona Lisaaaaa…" _

Enjolras sighs wistfully. "I am nothing if not surrounded."

"Aw go on, give Éponine a dance, Enjolras."

"Yeah, you could practise your quickstep-"

"Oh, shut up, 'Taire."

"Well you know what they say, the couple who sways together stays together."

Groaning, Éponine slaps a hand to her face. "This is so cringey."

Grasping her gently by the wrist, Enjolras pulls Éponine lightly to her feet and reaches for his scarf.

"Let's get out of here."

"Oh, well. That's gratitude for you."

Bidding Marius and Cosette goodbye, they leave Courfeyrac and Feuilly dueting 'Total Eclipse of the Heart' and head out the door, ignoring the calls of Grantaire (_"You don't know what you're missing!")._

Once outside, where the music has faded to a muffled thumping in the stillness of the snowy evening, Enjolras fixes Éponine's coat closer around her shoulders and mumbles, "How about we just do our own thing for dinner?"

...*...

Their meal eaten, the pair relax on the sofa, the room dimly lit by the twinkling of the fairy lights on the Christmas tree.

"Please tell me you're not into Fight Night too," Éponine mumbles against his shoulder, fiddling with the collar of his shirt.

"Not the whole shebang, no, but I do sometimes put a little bet on."

Her eyes widen at the thought of Enjolras gambling. "You go to the bookies?"

He shifts indignantly.

"Only _occasionally_, I'm not Courf." Resting his head against hers, he plays with her hair absentmindedly, and continues softly. "It's just…my grandfather used to bet when I was a kid, once a year. It kind of became my tradition too, I guess."

"Oh."

"He'd take me with him to the betting shop and buy me a present on the way back if he won. 'Course, it was the horseracing in his case, but after he died - "

The room is suddenly enveloped in darkness as the lights on the Christmas tree blow.

"Damn," Éponine hisses as she scrambles from where she lies snugly on top of Enjolras.

"_OW_!"

"What?" She searches for his face in the darkness.

"Nothing," his voice winces from somewhere beneath her, an octave higher than normal. "I'm okay, you just…you just kneed me."

"I don't need you, I change lightbulbs all the time-"

"No, I mean – _never mind_."

Éponine finds the switch for the table lamp and sits cross-legged on the floor to fiddle with the fairy lights. Regarding her for a moment, Enjolras swings his legs off the couch and leans his chin in his hands.

"Ep?"

"Hm?"

She curses as the fairy lights tangle in the Christmas baubles, and trails a string of tinsel from the depths of the tree. Noticing his silence, she turns to Enjolras with a frown.

"What?"

He looks at his girlfriend, the girl who has been his lover, his critic, his classmate and his friend for the most important years of his life, and tries to gauge her reaction.

"My mother has asked if you'd like to have Christmas dinner with us."

Her frown disappears, making way for a look of surprise.

"Really?"

"You needn't sound so shocked."

"Well it's just. Your family's so proper, and I'm, well…"

He stands up, pulling Éponine to her feet with him.

"They like you, Éponine."

She chews her lip uncertainly.

"It wouldn't be awkward?"

Enjolras sighs. He normally hates those kinds of situations, the formal dinners his parents hold every Christmas for their friends. Nice enough people, but add a girlfriend to the mix and the scrutiny would be nearly unbearable.

"We could just treat it as another date," he ponders aloud, his face so serious and thoughtful that Éponine cannot help but giggle.

"Besides," he shrugs, pulling her closer, "I would like to spend Christmas with you. I mean, well…I'd like to spend _every_ Christmas with y-"

He doesn't have time to get the words out before Éponine has grabbed him by the collar and yanked him through the door to her bedroom.

* * *

**_To Be Continued._**


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note:** After goodness knows how long I am finally posting the final chapter of this story! Apologies for the long wait (if anyone is even still reading it!) but I hope the ending satisfies :) Thanks for sticking with it. :)

* * *

In these first few days of March, the world remains a Christmas card, coated in a thick blanket of snow. The woods are unusually quiet, the chirping birds tucked safely into hedges and herds of cattle huddled snugly together for warmth in corners of fields.

The long winter is finally coming to an end, and the smell of spring is already in the air; green buds and pink petals appearing on branches even as soft flakes of snow continue to drift lightly down upon them.

The little robin cocks his head to one side as he watches the couple walk slowly down the winding lane. Flitting to and fro between the hedgerows that line the snowy path, he occasionally chirrups out a warning, but they pay no heed, and he titters with laughter to himself as they slip and slide upon the invisible patch of ice (more than once the girl nearly chokes the young man with his own scarf as she clings to him for safety).

A layer of snow falls with a soft _flump_ from the metal gate as the pair swing it open and pass through into a large sloping field, welly boots trudging through the deep drifts of white.

* * *

_For the past couple of months Éponine has persuaded Enjolras to visit his childhood home more often, and each visit has proved more successful than the last. _

_The Christmas dinner with his parents had gone surprisingly well, albeit rather chaotically. _

_Leaving Enjolras to supervise the turkey as she took a phone call, his mother had returned a short while later to find her son in the midst of a heated rant about the evils of consumerism at this time of year, the turkey forgotten and burning to a crisp in the oven. Éponine had saved the situation by whipping up a delicious casserole with the vegetables and any pieces of turkey they could salvage, earning her the pride of place at the dinner table when Enjolras' mother patted the seat next to her with an inviting smile._

_His parents had stood at the porch and waved goodbye at the end of the night; and as they drove away Éponine felt sure that it was more than the cold nip in the air, more than the mulled wine, that had set a rosy glow in Enjolras' cheeks, his eyes beaming even as he fought to keep his face straight and nonchalant_.

* * *

It was on this fourth visit to his parents' house that Enjolras had dug out his childhood toboggan from the attic, and the pair had set off through the countryside, wrapped up in thick layers of coats scarves and gloves at his mother's insistence.

"I feel like a bloody Christmas turkey wrapped up in this." Enjolras huffs, tugging at the scarf wrapped tightly around his neck.

Éponine fixes her hat with a tinkling laugh, answered by the chirrup of a little robin who has made his perch on the gate post, watching them intently.

"You look good enough to eat, darling."

Enjolras merely _hmphs, _but she can tell that beneath the many layers of wool his ears have turned scarlet.

Sitting down and tucking herself between his legs, she snuggles back into his chest.

"Come on then."

The little robin watches in amusement as the young man reaches around the girl to grab hold of the reins.

"Get ready -"

Enjolras' heart races as Éponine wriggles in front of him, ready to kick the toboggan (and them) into oblivion.

"- and… _lift off_!"

...*...

After a few seconds, Éponine opens her eyes.

"Was something supposed to happen?" she asks innocently, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

With a frustrated growl, Enjolras stretches his feet out at either side of them and kicks impatiently at the snow with his feet, sending flurries of white everywhere, and suddenly, before Robin Redbreast can call a warning –

_Whoooosh._

* * *

Trudging back towards the lane, Éponine is rather startled to see Enjolras' father leaning casually against the iron gate.

He triumphantly hands each of them a blanket as they emerge onto the lane, and chuckles at Éponine's baffled expression.

"Hit ice?" he grins knowingly.

"And then a tree." Enjolras grumbles.

Éponine raises her eyebrows, staring from father to son.

"How did you…?"

"Éponine dear, we've been digging Enjolras out of snowdrifts every winter for the past fifteen years, this year won't be any different. It's about time he got the hang of it though."

He takes a photo with a whirr and a click.

"You'll look back and laugh," he promises as his muttering son attempts to stride haughtily through the gate, slips, and falls flat on his backside.

The countryside echoes with hooting laughter as Enjolras blinks up at his father and girlfriend, both bent double at the sight of his wide-eyed shock.

* * *

Three weeks later, a parcel arrives on the doorstep of Éponine's apartment.

Their attempts to rekindle the magic of a first date have dwindled since the disastrous tobogganing attempt, and to be frank, both Éponine and Enjolras are relieved.

They had both arrived home drenched in melting snow and shivering; huddling by the fire at Enjolras' parents' house, they had mutually agreed that first dates were overrated anyhow.

("We made a good try of it," Enjolras says cheerfully, _determinedly_, and Éponine nods fervently in agreement.)

When the little package lands with a soft _thlump _upon the hall rug, Enjolras pokes his head around the kitchen door into the living room.

"Was that the front door?"

Laying aside her magazine, Éponine grudgingly slips off the sofa and into the hallway. Enjolras emerges from the kitchen as she returns, dripping bubbles from the rubber gloves he is peeling from his hands. He mirrors her frown.

"What is it?"

"Got me."

Sinking back onto the sofa, Éponine sets about ripping the packaging from the parcel. When the little book falls into her lap at an open page, she gives an audible gasp which brings Enjolras running back into the room.

"I don't believe it…"

Falling back onto the couch to take a closer look, Enjolras' eyes narrow.

"You have _got _to be kidding me."

Together they sit and flick through the photo album that Courfeyrac has assembled, a mismatch collection of boating trips and wine tasting excursions, restaurant fires, snowy fields, riverside group selfies and karaoke nights.

"He's been watching us the whole time, the freak!" Enjolras howls.

Turning the page, Éponine winces.

"Why the hell did you tell me I looked good in that dress and _those shoes?_"

"Never mind you, look at this." He holds up a picture of a snowman, but on closer inspection Éponine glimpses fluffy golden curls beneath the fluffy white snow; a souvenir of their tobogganing trip.

"Ha!" Éponine nudges his side.

"It looks like a Christmas card!" she exclaims happily, "Look, there's a little robin and everything!"

"Hang on, this means my father must have been in on this." Enjolras gives a loud _tut_, then peers closer at the little photograph. "I think Cosette was right when she said I needed a haircut –"

"Maybe we could singe it off to match your eyebrows," she mutters under her breath, waving another photo under his nose.

He snatches it from her grasp and stuffs the pictures into his shirt pocket.

"Funny."

They sit and flick through the pages, tutting and sniggering, and gasping with indignation.

"Oh, look, there's the before, during and after shots of you getting punched on the nose by that guy at the cinema!"

"Give me those!" he takes the photographs from her and groans in horror. "So he was behind us the whole time? I'm going to _kill_ Courfeyrac."

"Come on, it's funny! It's rather nice to have the memories, don't you think?"

"Does _this _look like a moment I want to remember?"

He holds up a picture of the exact moment the stranger's fist had collided with his face, Éponine's eyes wide with terror in the background.

She bites her lip and even Enjolras can't help but smirk as he defiantly exclaims, "it's not funny!"

But Éponine is soon past the point of no return, gasping with mirth, and it isn't long before the pair are falling over each other with laughter, wiping tears from their eyes.

"We're fu- fucking ridiculous!"

And when their laughter dies down, they simply sit side by side, letting the quiet of the afternoon wash over them once more.

"Well," Enjolras asserts, after several minutes of silence, occasionally punctuated by Éponine's hiccups. "I'll certainly be speaking to Courfeyrac after this. And writing my father a _long _letter."

"Don't be too hard on them."

"Hmm. We'll see."

Éponine smiles and affectionately buries her face into his shoulder, as Enjolras leafs through the photographs once more, tutting and muttering under his breath. He's right, of course. Courfeyrac had no business following them around all this time. Absolutely _no_ business taking photographs without their knowledge.

(She'll thank him later.)

* * *

**The End.**


End file.
